Heiress by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online

Quarter horses, usually entering nearly all the classes to prove the Arabians' versatility and stamina, frequently placing and occasionally winning. He let Dean ride them in the junior classes as well, to show that despite their spirited looks, they were gentle enough for a child.
    Dean loved the show ring. And he loved the horses. They were his best friends, his playmates and confidantes. Riding them was the one thing he was good at; the proliferation of ribbons from those first shows and from subsequent all-Arabian horse shows proved it. Arabian horses were one thing he didn't have to take a backseat to his father on. In fact, he thought he knew more about them than R.D. did.
    Over the years, the Arabian horse population at River Bend had grown from five to thirty-five, the bloodlines heavily weighted in favor of Crabbet imports of Skowronek and Mesaoud lineage. In Arabian horse circles, River Bend Arabians had earned the reputation of being among the best in the country. If R.D. would just give him the chance, Dean knew he could turn River Bend into the top Arabian horse farm in the country—maybe even the world.
    True, he had received his law degree and passed the bar exam, and as of yesterday, he had been made a vice-president in the company. But those were meaningless titles. He wasn't a lawyer or an executive; he was a horseman. He wondered if he'd ever be able to get R.D. to understand that.
    Lane lifted aside the French cuff of his shirt sleeve and checked his watch. "It's time we were going down. One of the duties of the best man is to make sure the groom doesn't keep the bride waiting."
    "Knowing Babs, she'll keep us waiting." But Dean started for the door anyway, the thought of his bride-to-be bringing a smile to his face. In then back of his mind, though, he was wondering how he was going to convince Babs that they should cut their honeymoon in New York by a couple of days so he could stop in Illinois on their way back and look at some of the Egyptian-bred Arabians at Babson Farm.
    A picket fence surrounded the small yard of the overseer's cottage, which was built in the same architectural style as the mansion but on a smaller and less elaborate scale. A pecan tree, gnarled and twisted with age, spread its broad limbs above the small house, its canopy of leaves providing shade from the unrelenting Texas sun.
    A pair of white horses hitched to a carriage decorated with white flowers came to a prancing halt on the narrow dirt lane in front of the cottage. Their coats gleamed like ivory satin, a contrast to the ebony sheen of their hooves.
    Benedykt Jablonski cast one last inspecting glance at them as he hopped down from his seat beside the driver, a stable groom decked out in a top hat and tails for this auspicious occasion. Ben struggled not to smile when he glanced back at him, certain he looked equally strange in the footman's uniform his employer, Mr. R. D. Lawson, had insisted he wear.
    Ever since the actual preparations for the wedding had begun the day before, Ben had watched it all with growing awe. It had always been his understanding that only royalty went to such extravagant lengths, but here it was in America, on a grander scale than he'd ever seen. But how much had he seen in his twenty-five years of life? How much besides war, with its devastation and hunger, and the oppression of foreign occupation?
    That was Poland; that was the past. This was America; this was his present. He was free, and his life here was good. Again he was being allowed to work with his beloved Arabians. And he was part of the young master's wedding, however small his role.
    With shoulders squared, he strode through the gate to the front door of the cottage and rapped loudly twice. A heavyset man in formal clothes opened the door, glowering at him like an intruder.
    Nervously, Ben cleared his throat. "For the bride, we wait."
    The man stared at him blankly, the frown on his forehead deepening as if he didn't understand what